


the color blue

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, ill met by moonlight, sea-sunk by midnight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was never just another highblood. Not her. Not ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the color blue

The sky was falling.

Maybe it was the end of the world, or maybe it was the rain, or maybe it was just the color blue.

But the sky was falling and there was blue all around you, and for a moment you wondered if you had gone out to sea again.

  
_Ships set sail first thing at night_   
_Always guided by moonlight_   
_Stars shine in the skies above_   
_They’ll guide me back hivebound_   
_Straight to my love_

It was an old rhyme, an old song, and you were humming it softly and the sky started falling again. No. Rain. Rain was like sky falling and—and no. Tears.

Warm and brown, like the earth, or your ship’s deck, just after sunset, when you would sprawl out across it and soak up the heat.  
But the earth was rarely damp and warm all at once, and you laughed softly at this new marvel. If only the world wasn’t so blurry.

 

Oh, but someone was _crying_ , which shouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t stand for that sort of thing, it was unseemly. And for some reason you thought it was important that you say something, but the sky was going dark and you couldn’t remember what you wanted to say.

 

Maybe after you rested for a moment. Just a moment more.

 

* * *

 

She’s dead. She’s dead, and the death is on my hands. Just add it to the lists, the catalogs, the pages full of highbloods that I’ve killed. And that’s what she was, wasn’t she? Just another highblood.

But that’s a lie, and she was never just another highblood. Not her. Not ever.

 

I regretted it the moment she died. The moment I ran her through. The moment I saw it in her eyes that she had seen this coming, that she had known and accepted her fate all along.

The moment that I made the decision that sealed that fate.

And I _screamed_ , trying to save her, trying to stop the flow of blood, blood as blue as the seas and the skies that no one was supposed to see but the animals all carried memories and she’d fallen at my feet and she was bleeding out and there was so much blue, so much blood, how had I forgotten how much a highblood bleeds?

 

But she was never just another highblood.

 

* * *

 

I really have no idea what I was thinking, sometimes. Regret never came easily, and I would be hard pressed to say repentance. Perhaps some of Redglare had rubbed off on me, because I believe that I might have been searching for balance.

Some way to set the bad I have done against the good. To even out the sum of my life’s actions, in the hopes that it might be positive.

Perhaps I was seeking redemption.

 

But really, I ought to have known better. No one could suffer a redeemed character to live, no—we were always better off dead, better off gone. It was only fitting that I fall.

 

Some part of me wishes that he hadn’t been the one to kill me. It would have been better for the both of us.

 

* * *

 

I didn’t even realize what I was doing until I was up to my knees in damp earth. We don’t bury our dead, never have. But there was no way I would leave Spinneret to the elements, not her.

By the time the pit was long enough to hold her, I wasn’t sure if the bronze was coming from my hands or my eyes. One thing was certain, though. This wasn’t the right place for her, not in the slightest.

There was a stream nearby, and I cleaned my hands off, tearing strips from my clothing to wrap the wounds. Then I gathered her body into my arms and took off. The blue-stained lance was left in the ditch. I never wanted to see it again.

 

* * *

 

He was beautiful, my brown-eyed boy. Brave and bold and brilliant. Certainly not bright, no, but he shone with a light that drew others in. The Signless had been a fire, to be certain, but his fire was warm and comforting. My brown-eyed boy was a wildfire, a brilliant blaze of heat.

It took me far too long to accept him. And the moment I did, my fate was sealed.

 

I found solace in the fact that he was impossible to resist. He drew me to his flame like a moth, a drab-paperwing.

It hurts to see him like this. He is in danger of dousing his own flame, and there is nothing more that I can do for my love.

 

* * *

 

I’ve never flown so far out to sea before. It’s hard going. The salt in the wind means I have to keep to the upper air, for fear of damaging my wings, and keeping my grip on Mindfang is even harder than usual.

I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.

 

Then there’s a shift in the wind, and I’d swear that I felt her fingertips brush across my face. The scent that she carried, light and ink and parchment and sea salt, hangs heavy in the air. For a moment, I hang there, drinking it in.

Then I let go.

 

The waves reach up, hungry and devouring.

 

I didn’t stay to watch her sink.


End file.
